“Go to Tärnsjö and fight mosquitoes,” Sammy replied. “Well done, Charles! But call now, so you don’t miss Ottosson!”
Sammy Nilsson hung up and immediately called Lindell’s cell phone. No answer. He went back to her office. Empty. Irresolute, he stood awhile going back and forth before he took the elevator down to the garage.
Thirty-four
The mild summer rain dampened her cheeks. She knew she had to pull herself together, there was no other alternative. She slammed the car door behind her. I don’t even have an umbrella, she thought.
Most of all she wanted to disappear in a fog, just go, leave everything, give up. But Erik was waiting. She had fled the police building, but she could not flee from her son.
Emma’s mom, Carolina, came walking up. She lived nearby and could walk to the preschool. Ann Lindell opened the car door again, turned her back, and pretended to be looking for something in the front seat.
“Hi, Ann, did you lose something?”
I’m looking for a life, thought Ann, wanting to fall head-first into the car and just lie there, but straightened up and turned around.
“Yes, a piece of paper,” she said.
“Papers always disappear,” said Carolina. “It’s nice to get a little rain.”
Ann thought so too, because it hid her tears.
“Please excuse me,” she said. “I have to make a call.”
“Sure, about dreadful murders, I understand,” Carolina said cheerfully, and left. When she came up to the day-care entrance, she turned around and called out something like “Have a nice weekend.” Ann waved back.
Feeling ashamed, she picked up her cell phone. Who should I call? Who would want to listen to what I have to say? She did not even want to listen to herself, so why did she think anyone else would be interested? And what did she have to say? One word said it alclass="underline" degradation. Maybe shame, even hate.
She realized that Sammy knew, maybe even Morgansson. No, Sammy was not mean enough to tell the technician about her and Brant. But the very thought that Morgansson had gathered pubic and head hair with a tweezer from Brant’s bed, hair from a dark-haired woman, made her crazy with jealousy and bitterness. Hair that was now in a plastic bag as evidence of his duplicity.
I’ll kill him, she thought, and she felt a new anxiety attack making her body cramp up.
Over and over again she played the scene in her mind. How he had gone from her bed to the other woman, whispered words of love, pushed a pillow under the woman’s belly, caressed, licked, and penetrated her. Her too.
What was her name? Ann wanted to know her name, what she looked like, and how old she was. Probably a young beauty, with a firm body and a smiling mouth. Maybe she was twining her legs around his back at just that moment, panting in his ear?
Now of course he was sleeping with her in Brazil. Did they talk with each other about the policewoman in Uppsala? An escapade that didn’t mean anything, that would be forgotten and forgiven. She could hear him making his assurances.
He declared his love to the dark-haired woman, whispered indecencies in her ear, made her laugh and willingly part her legs.
She was riding him, sucking his cock, massaging his balls. Right at this moment.
Lindell struck the roof of the car, stroked the finish with her hand and pushed away the raindrops in a wild dance, drawing air into her lungs. Hated. She wanted to throw up in his mouth, kick him, make him suffer.
“I can’t take this,” she mumbled, but knew that there was no going back. Erik had to be picked up, fed, put to bed, woken up, and taken to daycare and school. Not just today, but every day-ten, fifteen years ahead. He would grow, become a teenager and a man, step out into life on his own two feet. She was the one who would guide that journey. It was her duty. Who else would do it? Who would ask about how she was doing? Who would take her hand and listen to her needs and wants? Who the hell would love her?
“Are you still there?”
Carolina’s voice, Emma’s talk, but Anna did not turn around, did not have the energy to be polite, remained leaning against the car. They could think what they wanted to. The rain picked up. Everything was damp. Drops pattered and divided into small cascades on the roof of the car. The asphalt shone black. The crowns of the trees in the little park outside the preschool were moved by a sudden breeze.
She was submerged in grinding bitter thoughts, unaware of the rain and the world. Her inner drive belts were slackened, gears and wheels turned more and more slowly, there was no drive, the machinery was being turned off.
Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder and she jumped.
“Ann, what’s going on, don’t you feel well?”
“I’m fine,” she blurted out.
She closed her eyes, wanted to close everything out. Let me be, don’t talk to me, don’t touch me.
“Are you coming in? It’s raining. We are getting worried.”
Suddenly Ann turned around and fell into the woman’s arms, sniffling and sobbing. Just then a car pulled up. It stopped right behind Ann’s and Sammy Nilsson got out.
“Hi, what’s going on?”
He was noticeably moved by the scene. Ann, his colleague and friend, helpless in an embrace outside the preschool.
“I’m a colleague of Ann’s,” he continued.
The woman nodded.
“She’s not feeling well,” she said.
“We’re having a tough time at work,” said Sammy. “I can take care of her. I’ll park her car here, then I’ll drive Ann and Erik home. She needs to rest.”
“Will you do that? Do you know Erik?”
He saw the relief in the preschool teacher’s face.
“We’ve met,” Sammy answered, putting his hand in Ann’s jacket pocket and fishing out the car keys.
Together they made sure that Ann got into Sammy’s car. The preschool teacher went to get Erik. After a few minutes he came running.
“Hi, there,” said Sammy. “Your mom is a little sick. She has a tummy ache, so I’m going to drive you home.”
Erik observed him big-eyed, then peeked carefully in the backseat where Ann was sitting. She tried to smile. The boy got into the car without a word. Maybe he thought it was exciting to ride in a newer, sportier car than his mom’s.
“Drive fast,” he said, as he put on the seatbelt. “Mom never does.”
Sammy nodded and turned out of the parking lot.
He took command immediately and bedded Ann down on the couch in the living room, draped a blanket over her, let Erik feed her strawberry ice cream. It was good for her stomach, Sammy said. Ann looked at them with sad eyes. Erik held out a spoonful of ice cream and she swallowed dutifully.
Her silence made Sammy Nilsson nervous. If only she had protested, but she let herself be fussed over. Wordlessly she lay there watching her son as if he were a person she had seen before but had not paid close attention to until now. Sometimes she let out a barely audible whimper or smiled faintly, as if she found herself seeing the comedy in the situation, being fed by a seven year old. But she continued opening her mouth and taking in spoonful after spoonful. At last she held up her hand.
“Now I think her tummy feels better,” said Sammy.
“Thanks,” Ann whispered, reaching for the boy with an awkward motion, but too late, he had already slipped away with the container of ice cream.
Sammy heard him open the freezer and put the ice cream back.
“I’ll stick around awhile,” said Sammy.
“I’m a piece of shit,” Ann hissed.
Sammy understood that she was trying to whisper, but that something went wrong. He shook his head.
“Yes, letting myself be deceived like that.”
They heard Erik turn on the computer in his room and then the clamorous sound of a computer game.
She was stretched out on the couch. The blanket moved very slightly when she breathed. Her bare feet were sticking out at one end, and it occurred to Sammy that all that was missing was a thread around one toe, a thread with a tag and a number written on it.